The curtains gently blow
To reveal a face behind them
Though if it is yours or not
You can not be certain


You also notice a light
Behind the obscure face
Though its souce and distance
Remain a mystery


The cutain continues its flow
Following the current of the wind
Strange notes ring softly
Somewhere beyond the window


Looking out the window once more
You see that the face is gone
And the light has changed form
Though in what way is uncertain


The notes continue playing
Beginning now to form
A simple yet harrowing melody
As the dark curtains flutter


After a moment the breeze stops
And the curtains sit still
Your attentiom drawn from them
You notice the figure in the room


In the corner of the room
Sits a black mass of shadow
Its exact shape or form
Too vauge to determine


The only thing you could notice
Was the face among the shadow
It was the same one you had seen
Outside the open window


The curtains shifted in the wind again
Revealing the outside once more
But the light was now gone
Replaced by a engulfing darkness


Down the hall
A light bulb flickered on
Dimly revealing that black mass
And the face that sat among it


And then it too went out
And after it did no light
Returned to the room
Or to your eyes ever again


And then you woke up
As the curtains gently fluttered
In the late evening breeze

what's with this anglophone puritanical *** guilt surrounding the pleasure from the actual act? it feels like being a cow, bothered by a hundred flies. this **** can't be even blamed on catholicism... catholics? with what, 5 kids? they're the ones who are *** shy? yeah... must be true... let's just compete over genital sizes for un-emotional drunken & disorderly... ****! i need that turmeric infused egg-fried rice!

i have a vague suspicion that
                                                            ­   the genius
                      of the film ex-machina has
some feminist overtones
     in it...
         like it's some anti-prostitution
gimmick...
clearly, you haven't been
                                            to a brothel...
had you, you'd find almost
none of the prostitutes would
bite your phallus off when
                                giving you *******...
           it doesn't work like that,
it's not about ***-bots...
                             but clearly ex-machina
    is a propaganda movie about:
the "evils" of prostitution...
great soundtrack... ****** backdrop...
you lived in england where
the women abuse darwinism
and enforce this whole idea of:
fox & the hare?
         that there's some sort of
chase, or hunting involved?
       who the **** wants to engage
with that?
             divorcees?
   can't we just say, **** it... let's dance!
why is darwin the priest that marries
us off to living 40 years together?
based on what, the curriculum
of a ******* savannah?
      these times require crude language,
the english equivalent of
the latin *vulgate, like the first world
war and the need for zeppelins...
yes yes, and yes, i brushed my teeth,
        i could kiss you on the ready...
          but what? no...
      i'm done with the finicky game...
and i thought pick-up-artists had a horrid
strategy...
                    to know a woman's
psychology, with have jane austen...
        celibate and hopefully a face on
the back of a fiver...
        it's either that or jerking off...
why do these english women think
they're oh so special?
      ready meals?
     buying **** in supermarkets with
wet hair and wearing pyjamas?
     **** me, i'll cook my own curry,
i'll make my own burger... mmm...
   turkish pickled chillies,
sweet pickled gherkins,
  salad,        cheese,
      toasted buns,   argentinian beef,
      spanish (mild) onions...
            an accent of mayo,
                            burger sauce...
             tomatoes...
         if i missed something, let me know,
english ***** just drags out the need for
take-away...
  you can't even lick your fingers
these days, in a chicken-house when
finishing spicy wings... because there's
some freudian element to...
    ****... i need a napkin...
        she's the queen of the crop?
the crème de la crème?
                               the cherry on top?
as i said, once, already: *****, please!
   a madonna in cheshire...
                         a ***** in mallorca...
now i'm sitting with my legs crossed
thinking...
                that turmeric infused rice
that's yellow... oh **** me...
   egg fry it... add some cherry tomatoes,
some fresh coriander...
            some cumin...
       and then finish it all off with what
i countered the asians with...
   no... not sweet & sour...
    sweet & salty... yep.... honey... and soy souce...
    why do people have to be so ******
annoying... go to amsterdam...
       village bicycles on the ready...
and no one's moaning...
       it's ex_machina two-point-oh...
        imagine the ******* rubbing against
tight *******...
    which is a bit like you
     being pulverised by constantly seeing
****... she gets wet all the time with
the rub rub against the satin...
      and you're thinking: i better cure myself
with some l.s.d., and also give some
to my cat to become herr frankenstein
while i'm at it.            
   alternatively? drink some ***, write some
****, and cook something blasted into outer space.

I got a super secret list
It has some ingredients in it
You see, I'm gonna cook tonight
And have some fun with it

First of there is the main course
Chicken, turkey and a goose
Beef, bacon, sausages
Served with some mango juice

Salad out of  lettuce and cheese
Would make a great side to the rice
And the souce made of chillies
Would compliment it pretty nice

I have to remember  to get some flour
Milk, eggs and butter
Yeast is pretty important too
If I want to make bread fun to chew

But I have to stop daydreaming first
Or else the shop is going to close